The Elfin Blogger's Hard Day

How can you tell a blogger who's had a heavy weekend? The virtual silence.

This feels like a relationship conversation, but I think we need to get it all out in the open. I'm tired of apologising to you and you're tired of hearing it, so we need to agree: I know it's called The Daily, I know that people check it on that basis, but sometimes - and they will be few - I will not be able to post. It doesn't mean I don't care anymore, and it certainly doesn't mean I have nothing to say (as if), but sometimes I just can't make it to a pc. You just have to trust me, I will always come back.

For anyone who didn't know, I spent Friday night in Norwich visiting my friend Howard, and most of yesterday in rehab. Howard has an amazing power for bringing people together at very short notice; for this reason we call our swiftly convened meetings 'The Presidential Summits.' This power to unify folk is strongly related to how much we all adore him, but don't tell him that, it might go to his head.

It was magical as always to see Howard, and I love the atmosphere of these rapidly organised gatherings, this time at his parents' house in Wymondham (pronounced, in typical English fashion, Win-dum). About a dozen of us, including Howard's family and children came together to meet up on Friday, with a hard core of (the heavy drinkers among) us staying up for most of the night at the gorgeous Tim and Vanessa's house. It was great to see everyone, awful to say goodbye the next morning and terrible to get home with a hangover the size of Drunksville, Arizona. The only cushion to the painful blow of saying goodbye to Howard was the knowledge that I'm going to fly out to Canada for a holiday in January.

Worse still, this morning I woke to another working day finishing the first draft of a survey I've been working on for a not-for-profit organisation in London. This I duly finished about half an hour ago at 22.30 (military time) and I am knackered, with a capital Knack.

Still, I see why Shakespeare described the act of saying goodbye as 'such sweet sorrow,' because it is only as we let someone go that we appreciate how much they mean to us. In a way, I was glad to be working today as it gave me no time to get down and teary with my bad self.

At first I felt sorry for myself and reluctant to return to what I at first perceived as the daily drudge and grind that my brief sojourn had succeeded in removing me from. However, inspired by last week's viewing of Elizabethtown, I keep comforting myself with the thought that "If it wasn't this, it would be something else." Anyone who wishes to make me a t-shirt with this on it is more than welcome, especially if it comes with one that reads 'Destined for Greatness.'

So, what's the deal with the Chief then? I've got some of you announcing to me in person: "Enough already with the Chief!" and now a comment from Friday demanding to hear news of him! I'm seriously considering setting up a blog, 'Adventures of the Chief' but the sneaking suspicion that it would get more hits than mine is stopping me right now.

My Alan Lomax cd's had arrived when I returned home and, having just packed up my work for the day these are playing on the stereo. I'm going to crack myself a Bud and listen to these before bed, sore but satisfied (as the actress said to the bishop). The worst thing about working on a computer all the time is the knitting contest taking place in my shoulders and neck, but at least it will keep my huge Swedish male masseuse busy (I wish).

The Big Three

1. Howard telling a long story involving a fire alarm, a lot of alcohol and some clever subterfuge: "Yes, I saved the day that night."

2. Owen and Lauren

3. Living like I'm 19 again

This poem is taken from the American Library of Congress' Poem of the Day site. Check out this amazing resource at: http://www.loc.gov/poetry/180/

Bad Day by Karen Ryan

Not every day

is a good day
for the elfin tailor.
Some days
the stolen cloth
reveals what it
was made for:
a handsome weskit
or the jerkin
of an elfin sailor.
Other days
the tailor
sees a jacket
in his mind
and sets about
to find the fabric.
But some days
neither the idea
nor the material
presents itself;
and these are
the hard days
for the tailor elf.

From Say Uncle, 2000
Grove/Atlantic, Inc